Severus Snape and His Brat
by Sishopper
Summary: What would've happened if it turned out that The Gryffindor Golden Boy had a less than perfect home life? That he was abused? How would Severus Snape react to the situation, should he be the one to discover the truth behind Harry Potter's Glamour Charms? Starting from the summer before fifth year, warning for mentions of abuse. Snape mentors Harry fic.


Title: **Severus Snape and His Brat**  
Author: Sishopper  
Rated: T  
Hurt/Comfort/Family

 **Chapter 1**

 **Disclaimer: All rights go to JKR**

As darkness fell on Privet Drive, the lights shinning in the various windows were slowly extinguished, one by one, until only one remained.

The small light in the second-story bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive was barely bright enough for the occupant to see by, though it still poured onto the street. Unwilling to risk the wrath of his family, the soon-to-be fifteen year old boy spent his nights squinting at his homework, trying to see enough to be able to accomplish something through all the pain. Fearing his family was natural for this boy, though they all went to exceeding lengths to minimize that fact. The neighbours themselves were particularly fooled, as the Dursleys were nothing but respectable in their eyes –all of them aside from their teenage delinquent nephew, of course, who resided there only two months out of the year. While the neighbours only saw the boy when he was either running errands for his aunt or doing yard work, they scorned his thin and ragged appearance, his tatty clothes –really, what was it with young people and their desire for ripped, stained and threadbare clothes? –and his shifty expressions, always scanning the street looking for trouble. Come September, he was regularly shipped off to St Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, and they were always relived to see him go.

What they didn't know, however, was that not only did the boy never go to St Brutus', but that he went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and that, if they were to mention his name, everyone in the Wizarding World would recognize the teen. The teenage delinquent nephew of the Dursleys happened to be none other than Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived –although, during the summers, he was merely addressed as either Freak, Boy, or Potter.

Harry Potter was famous, due to his history. Whenever he became the topic of discussion, some speakers became reverent, others scornful. Some worshipped him, while others wanted him dead. No one, however, could deny that he wasn't very easy to kill.

Even if they ignored the claims he and Albus Dumbledore started putting forth not one month ago, about how You Know Who was back and had tried to kill The Boy Who Lived in a graveyard at the end of the year, he is still currently the youngest Tri–Wizard Champion to survive. He is also known to have rescued a Miss Ginevra Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, as well as to have kept the Philosopher's Stone from the greedy hands Quirinus Quirrell, the Defense Professor at the time, in his first –rumour has it that He Who Must Not Be Named was involved somehow as well, though it is unconfirmed. Finally, there was the fact that not only is he the only person ever to be recorded as to have survived the Killing Curse, but that he did so at the age of only one (everyone seemed to forget that that was also the time that he lost his parents as well, much to Harry's chagrin). No, as much as his sanity after all those attempts were currently being debated, Harry Potter was very hard to kill.

Of course, no one knew this as well as the Dursleys, at least according to Harry. His mind had been trying to defend the actions of his relatives against his own person for years; to his Muggle professors in elementary school; to Ron and Hermione, after and before every summer since their first year, when he'd cut back on his eating before they'd leave, and return looking thinner than ever; and, much more forcefully than to anyone else, himself.

No, Harry had a hard time defending the bruising, insults, manual labour, belt lashes, bouts of starvation and lengthy periods of isolation, more and more as the years passed. Of course, it was much easier to do so to others, as no one else was aware of just how poorly he was treated at the hands of his relatives –mainly due to the Glamour charms he'd been casting since the end of first year.

Not that the adults at Hogwarts would do anything about it, as Harry himself had discovered after his first year; in a spout of foolishness near the end of the school year, Harry had begged Professor Dumbledore to not be returned to the Dursleys, pleading with him in his office. He'd just been told that he had not only murdered his Defense Professor, but had to return to Number 4 Privet Drive to relax and recover emotionally. Of course, Harry knew that that would've been the worst possible house for him to be in when he was an emotional train wreck, but the Headmaster would hear none of it.

He had thought that that summer would be the last of his life, that surely the combination of isolation and manual labour, topped with near starvation and no contact with the Wizarding World, would kill him before he managed to escape to Hogwarts in September. Of course, he survived, as he always did, but he was much less certain _this_ summer. While he knew he was much more emotionally compromised than what he had been after his first year, he knew better than to go to Dumbledore. What did it matter that Harry was having flashbacks to the end of his fourth year, nightmarish visions of Lord Voldemort rising out of a gigantic cauldron, of Cedric Diggory dying beside him – _because_ of him –as long as _The Boy Who Lived_ survived until September?

The only thing that gave Harry any form of comfort while he was at the Dursleys' was his owl, Hedwig. Of course, she represented a link to the Wizarding World even in Privet Drive, but Harry appreciated Hedwig much more than just for her letter-carrying capabilities –not that those had been used much, as Ron and Hermione seemed to be with Sirius, knowing everything that went on while he was stuck with the Dursleys, and apparently, they all felt rather disinclined to share with him (he pushed his fury to the recesses of his mind, not wanting to have to deal with such fury and have no target to aim it at –he'd wait until he saw them face to face; then –and only then –would he let them _have it_. And have it they would.).

No, what he loved most about Hedwig was how she listened to him, throughout all of his worries, insecurities, and fears; even those that went unsaid. No, she understood him in a way that even Ron and Hermione couldn't, as she was the only one that he did not –could not –hide the abuse from. While he had to carefully resort to avoiding to make eye contact with her after a brutal session to avoid facing the anger and helplessness and _fear_ that was radiating off of her, he refused to deny the warmth spreading through his body as he felt her gaze piercing his bleeding back, while his own gaze started unseeingly at a spot on the wall, imagining he were somewhere –anywhere –else, as long as it was somewhere far, far away.

No, even as much as he loved having Hedwig with him, it would not be enough to keep him neither mentally sane, nor physically safe –at least not this summer.

Harry had barely even crossed the threshold, having come straight from King's Cross, when Vernon Dursley's fists started swinging, and Dudley Dursley used the toe of his boot to push all of his magical belongings, including his wand, into the cupboard under the stairs –Harry only hoped that he'd get it all back early enough to be able to cast a glamour charm on his appearance before he saw his friends again. Otherwise, they would surely question why he was much thinner than even his usual appearance, and why he had so many more scars and injuries. Of course, the strain on his magic would be rectified, but that mattered very little to Harry; he didn't need another reason to be stared at by his peers, and them realizing that he was _much_ more powerful that he let on would guarantee staring for months –even if it meant that he wouldn't be quite so exhausted, at least not continuously. No, the only chance for him was to hope to be able to sneak his wand before he crossed the threshold of Platform 9 and ¾ on September first.

* * *

'I heard you last night, you know,' said Dudley maliciously. 'Talking in your sleep. Moaning.'

The two cousins were rather reluctantly walking back from the grocery store around the corner together; Dudley had been gone all day with his friends, and had only stopped into the shop to buy his snacks for the night –he was on a diet, which basically restricted him to salad, and was not taking it well. Harry had been sent out by Aunt Petunia to pick up the missing ingredients to the supper she had planned –which Harry would then cook, as always, and eat very little, if any, of it.

'What d'you mean?' Harry asked, with a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach; he had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams, and he knew that if Uncle Vernon heard that the Freak had disturbed his son's precious beauty sleep, he'd be dead.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice. '"Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!" Who's Cedric - your boyfriend?'

'I - you're lying,' Harry said automatically, ignoring his dry mouth; he knew Dudley wasn't lying - how else would he know the name Cedric? Harry's only concern was whether Dudley would tell Uncle Vernon. _Yes_ , a miserable voice whispered across his mind.

'"He's going to kill me, someone help me!" Boo hoo! Now, were you talking about Dad there, or that Freak that killed your parents?'

'Shut up,' said Harry quietly. 'Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!'

'Or what? What can you even do? It's not like you have your _magic_ to defend yourself, and you definitely must still be feeling the belt from last night. I bet you can't do jack shit to me, and you know it.' Dudley snarled furiously, barely managing to lower his voice; if there was one thing that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had managed to instil in Dudley from a young age, it was to keep his mouth shut when it cam to Harry – _especially_ when it involved Harry's disciplinary measures. Dudley continued mercilessly in his comments, either unaware or –as was the most likely –taking pleasure in his cousins mortification, terror and guilt.

It wasn't until Harry noticed the dropping temperature that he remarked that his normally excessive guilt was being multiplied by tens, and that Dudley had started shivering beside him. He felt the unnatural cold begin to steal over the street. Light was sucked from the environment, right up to the stars and the cold was biting deeper and deeper into Harry's flesh. While Harry cursed himself for allowing the Dursleys to take his wand from him, Dudley passed out just as two Dementors began to approach. Harry's vision dimmed just as he started to hear screaming swarming into his mind, followed shortly by a slowly creeping fogginess. Suddenly, the screaming sounded further away, as a cold laugh started ringing, followed shortly by a soft, cold voice.

' _We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry. You cannot hide from me… Come out, Harry... come out and play, then... it will be quick... it might even be painless... I would not know... I have never died...'_

Harry fell to his knees as memories of that night washed over him. Trembling, he fought to remain in the present, fought to keep the darkness of that night and those emotions from consuming him and, while he squinted through his foggy mind and dimmed vision, he noticed a silver doe patronus swarming the clearing. With half-lidded eyes, he saw, though he must've been hallucinating, the Hogwarts Potions master, Professor Severus Snape, hurriedly approaching them, a scowl as prominent on his face as ever. The Dementors fled from the prowling doe patronus, and Harry, while no longer under the effects of the creatures, seemed to shake even more.

'Prffs'r?' Harry asked, dumbly, gazing up at Snape from his crumpled position on the ground, trembling and numb with cold. Swearing under his breath, Snape curtly nodded his confirmation, still managing to look annoyed, furious and snarky as he lifted Harry up into a standing position. Harry swayed precariously, causing Snape to utter even more profound profanities towards his incompetent student.

With Dudley lying curled up on the ground beside him, whimpering and shaking, Harry could hear Snape as he cast the required charm to levitate Dudley and gripped Harry's arm, until he was supporting the boy. Together, they hobbled off awkwardly down the street, as fast as Snape could push Harry, with a trembling Dudley floating behind them, until they reached the doors of Number 4 Privet Drive. With a firm knock, Snape cancelled the charm on Dudley and waited, Harry sluggishly cursing his luck; he highly doubted he'd survive the night, with how ill Dudley looked.

* * *

Snape growled grumpily to himself. Between the Death Eater meetings he was attending, the Order's meetings and his own summer potion brewing duties, he felt as if his participation in Potter Watch duties shouldn't be made precedent. However, thanks to Albus _Bloody_ Dumbledore, it was him who had to cover for the others, should something come up and render them unavailable to guard the brat. Of course, _Dung_ took this as an excuse to be able to roam free and continue his dealings, even when he was supposed to be watching Potter. He had already been forced to cover four – _four_! –of his shifts, and it didn't look like Fletcher felt particularly inclined to make that less of an occurrence.

 _I wonder if strangling the waste of space would get the message across_. He snarled to himself as he discreetly followed Potter and his cousin down the road. As he observed the interactions between them as well as their surroundings, Snape felt scornful towards the brat he was forced to babysit. _Doesn't even wear proper clothes; look at them! They're practically falling off of him! And I bet he doesn't even bother to stoop to eating the Muggle food that's placed lovingly in front of him, if his thin frame is anything to go by. Foolish boy! He'll die of undernourishment before September if he continues on like that_.

The moment that he felt a creeping coldness and emptiness, he reached for his wand. Conjuring the feeling of a younger Snape, holding hands with a young, and very much alive Lily Evans, as she was ranting after Black and Potter had left, he let the emotions of being protected, loved and defended fill his mind. Whispering the incantation, he stared sadly as his doe patronus took off, to defend and protect him once again.

He examined the two boys slumped on the ground, cursing Potter for not being intelligent enough to even use his wand, and tried to get them back to Number 4 in one piece. _Potter looks too drained to run off on another dunderheaded adventure, but you never know with the idiot boy_.

* * *

'Yes? Oh it's _you_. What're _you_ doing knocking –DUDLEY!? DUDLEY, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!' Harry noticed that Snape had disappeared out of the enclosed porch area once the door had opened, and was extremely grateful that he hadn't heard the tone of disgust as Aunt Petunia addressed Harry –however, Aunt Petunia's tone worried Harry immensely. Just then, Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, rushing forwards at his wife's screeching, and Harry's blood froze.

 _Shit_.

'He's ill, Vernon!'

'What is it, son? What's happened? Did that Freak try something?' Vernon snarled, already turning towards Harry, menacingly gripping the belt supporting his pants. Harry gave an unconscious flinch at the gesture, remembering just the other night's session –the marks of which were still clearly visible on his back, some of them bleeding still; freaks deserve whatever punishment they get, rendering healing supplies unnecessary.

Aunt Petunia screamed in rage as Dudley merely managed a nod before he was sick on her shoes. Harry was franticly trying to find an escape route that would save him from his Uncle's fury when Dudley found his voice.

'Yes.' Dudley groaned, and said the one word that guaranteed an extremely painful night for Harry; 'Magic. He did magic.'

Harry froze, both in mind and body, face screwed up. His body tense, braced for the explosion, and he flinched violently when Vernon Dursley thundered towards his nephew, moustache quivering in rage.

'BOY! COME HERE!'

With a feeling of mingled dread and terror, Harry met his uncle's eye.

'What have you done to my son?' he said in a menacing growl.

'Nothing,' said Harry tonelessly, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him. He stepped backwards, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the Dursleys as he possible. 'I didn't!' Harry continued sharply, almost fearfully, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. 'I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, I swear –' He broke off after sensing someone behind him –not many people could sneak up on Harry, as he'd learnt early on to always expect a beating from behind; usually from Aunt Petunia and her frying pan, since Dudley and Vernon couldn't muffle the sounds of their great bulk even if they tried.

Sure enough, Severus Snape had stepped through the door, his wand out and pointed steadily towards Vernon Dursley.

'Back away, Dursley, before you do something you'll regret.' Harry heard Aunt Petunia's sharp intake of breath, and silently congratulated her on for once, seeing the danger of angering a wizard; if only she looked like that when her husband was taking his belt to her nephew.

'Who the bloody hell are you to tell me what to do?' His uncle demanded, his face turning more and more purple. Harry winced when he saw the vein throbbing, knowing he'd be extremely sore in the morning. Apparently, Snape had other ideas.

'I'll be taking Mr. Potter for the evening, if only to give both of you time to cool your tempers. I'll be in touch in the morning. Potter, grab what you need to for one night and meet me on the sidewalk out front. _Make certain you grab your wand_.' He snarled. With nothing else, Snape turned with a swish of his cloak, leaving the dumbfounded family of three on the porch, as Harry had run off to collect his things as soon as the Dursleys were distracted. Harry made sure to grab his Invisibility cloak, the Marauders Map, and the shrunken photo album of his parents as well as his wand, unwilling to leave them at the mercy of his relatives; he could always replace his precious Firebolt if need be, and he hadn't had the chance to shrink it while on the train.

Harry left his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs, the padlock smashed, and walked past his family on the steps as he re-joined his professor on the pavement.

* * *

As Harry realized that he no longer felt like he was being squeezed through a tube, he took a deep, calming breath. Taking in his surroundings, he noticed that he was no longer on Privet Drive. Instead, there was a dark, silent forest on ether side of a trail, which led toward an expansive Manor. As he followed Snape, they crossed through what appeared to be the Manor Gates, though they seemed to open willingly just at the mere presence of Snape. Harry noticed Snape's long, confident stride, figuring that he must be at least relatively comfortable with his surroundings. Harry tried to find solace in that fact, although Snape's behaviour worried him greatly. Would Snape hex him now that Dumbledore wasn't around to stop him –especially since Harry was now staying with a very reluctant Snape? Sneer at him even more than usual, because of his family's reaction towards the Professor? Harry figured that the latter would be all the more likely, as the Professor blamed him already for his Father's actions as a child; what was one –or three –more relatives to Snape, if not more excuses –and ammunition?

'Potter, welcome to Prince Manor. Keep your filthy fingers to yourself or so help me, I'll hex your hands off myself.' As Snape opened the front door, Harry gaped and turned around in circles, observing the lavish surroundings. He took careful note of the gleaming marble flooring, the sweeping staircase taking up most of the far side of the room, as well as the immense sky light in the ceiling, which would cause the marble to shimmer in the daylight. He shuddered to think of all the cleaning he would've had to do if his aunt's house looked like this. He stared up at the stars through the skylight, lost for a moment in the vastness. Oh, if only he could be a star, just one of many other thousands in the sky, maybe he wouldn't be so special; maybe he wouldn't be treated so differently.

He realized belatedly that that gave Snape a perfect view of the crisscross marks covering his neck and shoulders, most of which were left uncovered due to the exceedingly baggy and tatty old shirt barely hanging together over his thin frame. When he heard an intake of breath coming from behind him, Harry froze. Swearing colourfully in his mind, Harry slowly turned to face his Professor, gaze fixated on the floor and body hunched into a defensive stance.

'Explain, Potter.' Snape snapped, barely controlling the shock and rage coursing through him. 'And if you so much as utter one word that is false, I will have you moved into the Slytherin Dorms for the entire year as retaliation.'

He couldn't pretend to not know what was on his back; it happened far too often for that to be the case. The evidence to that was buried under the fresh belt lashes, though unless you stared hard enough, as Harry learned a while ago to stop doing, you'd be hard pressed to notice it. No, he'd just try to minimize the damage, though he hardly thought it'd be necessary, if Snape was anything like Dumbledore in regards to denial, or Hermione and the Weasleys, in regards to ignorance. Harry swallowed a groan of protest, knowing it never did him any good. 'My Uncle,' he paused, trying to figure out what, exactly, he could say that would pass as acceptable. Knowing how much Snape despised him, he didn't think he'd have to go into much detail. 'Takes discipline very seriously.' He murmured, hoping that an exaggeration didn't count as being deceitful, and that for once, Snape would believe wholeheartedly in the attitude that he saw in Harry whilst at Hogwarts; there was a reason that the Sorting Hat considered him for Slytherin, and that was due to his cunning ability to always hide his own intelligence. Mainly due to being punished whenever he got better marks than Dudley did in school, Harry had learnt the art of being deceitfully underachieving from a young age. His summer homework was never a problem, however, as he didn't even have the time to resort to his studies; he'd always have to finish his assignments late into the night their first night back in the Gryffindor common room, because there were very few instances that he was able to dedicate time on his homework when he was not blinded by pain throughout his summer.

'I see.' Snape said in a clipped tone of voice. 'Who else is aware of your Uncle's… disciplinary methods?' Snape drawled, in a sarcastic tone that was unable to mask the fury and –guilt? –glinting in his eyes.

'No one, sir. Though…' Harry flinched when he heard what sounded remarkably like a low growl starting in the Potions Master's throat. 'Dumbledore knows that I'm not particularly fond of them, nor them of I.' He flinched even more violently when he felt Severus Snape's hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly guiding him into what appeared to be a sitting room. Harry saw Potions supplies were already waiting to be used, as well as a tray of tea and a Calming Drought.

He suddenly felt very relieved that Snape had been the one to discover his home life, because he had faith that Snape, at least, would not pity him –at least, not to his face. He was, however, terrified that his Professor would ridicule him for it, or, even worse, tell Professor Dumbledore. Harry couldn't face the knowledge that Dumbledore either _didn't_ know what went on at Number 4 Privet Drive, or –what was possibly even worse –that he _did_ , and thought that Harry _deserved_ his punishments. Harry nervously shifted on his feet, reluctantly making his way over to the couch with a huge knot of dread swirling around in his stomach, the hand on his shoulder never hesitating –though, Harry noticed in an unattached sort of way, that it was carefully placed to not put pressure on the pre-existing welts.

* * *

Snape shivered violently as he took in the damaged skin of the boy walking around his house, knowing that he had been guarding the outside of the house, _protecting the family_ , when the real reason for his protection was inside being brutally abused. He observed the red welts, noting that they looked no older than 24 hours, and wondered at how the boy had been able to do the extensive yard work of which Snape had observed earlier that day. He could see infectious puss oozing out of a couple of the welts, starting at his shoulder blades and trailing the length of his entire back. He saw where some criss-crossed with others, knowing that those areas had to be particularly painful, and other areas where it seemed as if the brute had used the belt buckle to hit his nephew. Snape could see the imprint on his student's back, and noticed the blood breaking through the hastily formed scabs. It seemed as if he wasn't deemed worthy enough to warrant even bandages. He could see every rib, even through the ragged clothing, and wondered if it was as self-inflicted as he had originally thought it to be. _Probably not_ , he admitted grudgingly and more than a little shamefaced.

Snape tried to rein in a snarl of anger, but judging by the violent flinching of the boy looking fearfully up at him, he doubted he'd had all that much success. If only Mundungus Fletcher hadn't owled him that morning, informing him that something had come up and that he'd needed to switch shifts, and he wouldn't have had to reconsider his opinion of the brat. _Of bloody course it has to be on my shift that something happens_ , he thought maliciously. He'd informed Dumbledore of the Dementors and, consequently, the Patronus Charm that he'd cast, making sure that Potter wouldn't get blamed for the magic that the Ministry would pick up on.

He'd just finished sending his Patronus as a message to Dumbledore when he heard the anger directed towards the boy about the situation. Speaking from personal experience –not that he'd ever tell anyone else that –Snape knew that that would not be the best environment for the brat for the night. When he saw the Muggle's fist raised at the boy, he'd barely taken a moment to think before drawing his wand. It was only once he bothered to go back and revisit the memory that he noticed the lack of surprise on Potter's face; there was only a defensive curl of his shoulders to indicate that he was even aware of the fist coming in his direction. There had been no _Gryffindor Bravery_ , no thought process behind his actions, only reflexes, only self-preservation. _Only habit._

Snape had been unprepared for the anger and guilt that were swirling inside of him. He was furious towards the supposed Gryffindor, the one who refused to tell anyone because of his _pride_ –Snape snarled, ignoring the fact that he himself had refused to tell anyone of his own home life as a child from all aside from Lily Evans, and even then, it was only because he couldn't–and towards anyone who knew anything of the conditions that Potter had been subjected to. The Headmaster would definitely be getting an earful, that was for sure; Snape wondered if his throat would ever recover from the amount of yelling that he expected to be doing. He tried to ignore the demanding guilt, that if he had only _looked_ at the boy _properly_ , he could've seen the signs, and prevented all of the injuries that Harry –no, Potter! –suffered at the hands of his relatives. Snape felt like he was drowning in his emotions but, thankfully due to his Occlumency mastery, he was able to push the matter aside. He directed the boy towards the sitting room wherein he regularly healed himself after Death Eater meetings, pointing towards the couch as he made tea and added a Calming Drought to both cups. Handing one to the boy, Snape downed his in one go, hoping to draw as much strength as he could before he started questioning the brat sitting in front of him while he tried to patch up the shredded remains of Potter's back.

'Would you care to explain some things to me, Mr. Potter?' Asked Severus, as he tried to take the boy's shirt off his back. In the end, he slit the shirt in half, and was now trying to peel the material off of the welts. The tensing of muscles was the only indication of the extreme amount of pain the boy must be in; Severus clamped down on his own sympathetic pain emanating from his chest, for it was not the time.

'Not particularly…' Harry started. He could practically feel Snape's glare. 'Fine. What do you want to know?'

'How do you hide all these scars from your friends?'

'Glamour charms.'

'All the time?' Snape asked, flabbergasted. 'What about it effecting you magical potential? Magical exhaustion?'

'I've been keeping them going constantly since first year. I don't even know what my full magical potential looks like, and magical exhaustion is nothing knew.' Snape was extremely impressed. Potter had always been mediocre student; if he could keep a glamour charm going constantly, from September until June, his magic levels must be impressive indeed –the fact that he had also managed a patronus at thirteen, _while suffering_ from magical exhaustion, had never been heard of. Severus had to seriously reconsider his previous misconceptions of the boy. He was almost wary of the brat; he even almost pitied Voldemort –almost. 'Anything else?'

'Oh, I don't know, Potter, how about the reasoning for my having to bandage your bloody back?' He snarled.

'Yesterday, I was supposed to wash the car, clean the windows and the bathroom, wash the floors, cut the grass and cook and clean the kitchen. When I came into the kitchen after cutting the grass, I got clippings on the floor –after I had washed it. Aunt Petunia started yelling at me, saying stuff about how worthless I am, stuff like that –but I'm used to that; I can handle it. But when she started going off about my parents, and how they were worthless too, I lost it. She's never gone off on my parents, just me. She doesn't get the right to go off on them. Not towards me. So, I lost control, just like last summer, and all the light bulbs in the house exploded. Obviously, I was locked in my room until my Uncle got home and could deal with my _freakiness_.' Snape shuddered at Potter's tone, knowing that the anger he heard wasn't even half as what it should've been.

Resolving to get as much information as he could out of the brat before he paid the Dursleys a visit, Snape continued tending to Potter's back, glaring at the many scars that covered its entirety.

* * *

Before Harry fell into a deep, dreamless sleep –for the first time that summer –on the couch of his Potions Professor, he wondered at the feeling of supreme relief that coursed through him, as well as gratitude.

Perhaps it was due to the traumatizing events that occurred that night, the older man's steady pace of healing, or the Calming Draught that Snape gave him, –or a combination of everything –but Harry unburdened himself on Snape, letting his misery, guilt, and terror flow out through choked words and broken sobs.

For the first time ever, after some prompting from his Professor, he spoke of his cupboard, of Harry Hunting, of the tabooed words –of course, it being anything that involved magic –and the consequences that speaking them would bring –usually, more chores, or bruises. He spoke of the bouts of starvation, of the locks and bars on his room, and of the verbal attacks of which he had been victim of for years. While he didn't mention his guilt over Cedric's death –or anything in regards to the particulars of his Hogwarts days –he spoke of almost the entirety of his childhood and summers. It was late into the evening by the time Harry slowed down his confessions, his throat dry and his tears spent.

For his part, Severus just sat beside him on the couch, trying his best to heal the marks on his student's skin –Snape shuddered when he saw just how many there were, and that most of them had bled, and were subject to infection –since he could not heal the marks on the soul; at least, not in such a short period of time. It took an extreme amount of willpower on his part to keep his hand steady and his tone of voice unaffected. He knew that the boy needed someone strong to guide him, and, like it or not, Severus Snape was the only man even close enough to be considered as lining up for that position.

As Harry fell asleep, he was oblivious to the hand resting on his shoulder, recognizing only the comforting feeling that swarmed his senses. His last thought, was a worrying one: _will I have to go back to the Dursleys in the morning_? He must've spoken out loud in his panic, for an admonishing and curt voice almost snarled out a response.

"No. You will _never_ set another foot into that house, if I have anything to say about it." As Harry turned his shocked expression towards the man beside him, he sighed greatly in relief. Snape, for his part, was alarmed, though amazingly not unpleased, when the boy curled up into his side, asleep almost instantly. He was also glad that the boy had better sense that to call Number 4 Privet Drive _home_ , even if that left him pitying the boy all the more, wondering if the brat even knew what a home _was_.

As Snape watched Harry Potter sleep away his pains, he felt the guilt of knowing all that _Lily's son_ had been through, and that he had not prevented it, _especially_ after all the pain he had surely caused the boy's mother. No, as Severus Snape stood to inform Dumbledore of Potter's –however temporary –housing placement, he tried to do his best to cast aside the guilt that threatened to swallow him whole, and focus only on his determination to help the boy recover.

He knew it would be extremely taxing –for the both of them –but he was determined to be there for _Harry_ , seeing as the boy really had no one in his corner, to look out for his interests and his alone. He thought back to some of the snide comments Minerva had made over the years to the Headmaster in regards to the brat's family and resolved to see if she could be persuaded to their side, against the Headmaster, should it be necessary. She'd be a formidable ally, and Severus was not particularly keen on having her for an enemy. Snape had stopped caring about his own well-being that God awful Halloween night more than a decade ago, but that just meant he had all the more time and resources to dedicate to the boy. Severus Snape was a Slytherin who did not like to loose, and by all means, he would protect his charge with everything he had –from Voldemort, from the Dursleys, even from the Headmaster, should it be called for. Snape would give Harry the means he needed to survive, give him the choices that he himself as a teen had never had, and would always to make sure that he _knew_ that he _was not_ alone.

He added that Vow along with the one he'd already made to Lily –and later, to Dumbledore –only this time, he made it to himself, and to Harry Potter, The Boy Who _Would_ Live.

* * *

 **So originally, I had written this for a project in French class, only it had to be much less detailed, and that honestly killed me. I wanted to see where it could go, what could happen, and so I continued writing it in English. I found it thrilling –and challenging, but I'm not a Gryffindor for nothing –to write, and I hope that I did it justice. Feedback is always appreciated!**

 **Depending on reactions and the persuasiveness of the rampant plot bunnies in my head, this may either remain a oneshot, or be continued, depending on the length and amount of multiplying plot bunnies.. If you'd like to see more of this, let me know. If you have any ideas, let me know. Basically, I want to know what worked here, what didn't, what's missing, and what you'd like to see happen should I continue with this; the more feedback I get, the higher the chances are that I'll want to continue writing this. Thanks for reading!**


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